


You're the GOAT, Steve

by Firelightmystic



Category: Avengers (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Iron Man (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Transformation, Fluff with Angst Sprinkles, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sacrificial Battle Goat, Skinny Steve, Smut, Soulmates, Steve Is the Goat, Stony Loves Steve 2018, Tags Are For Shenanigans, The Bugle Is Fake News, Tony Stark Hates Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-05 07:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15165185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firelightmystic/pseuds/Firelightmystic
Summary: No one wants to address the elephant in the room. On the sidewalk, more accurately. And not an elephant, really, so much as a…A goat.Steve glances up at Tony to offer up a bit of comfort because, well, Tony looks like he really needs it, but when he opens his mouth to speak all that comes out is a startlingly loud bleat.Tony’s howl of frustration carries in the stricken aftermath.





	You're the GOAT, Steve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChibiSquirt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiSquirt/gifts).



> For Chibisquirt. (I'm so sorry, you didn't deserve to be inflicted with this madness. ^_^)
> 
> Many, many thanks to FestiveFerret for the beta-work. Any mistakes are the result of my hardheadedness. 
> 
> Goats are fun.

 

* * *

 

 

There is a profound silence.

Thor has given up shouting at Amora, his outraged invectives near-drowned by her raucous laughter, and no one really misses her when she disappears. Steve brings his attention back to the cluster of people around him. No, none of them much care about Thor and Amora at the moment. They’re all distracted, too busy staring at him, except for Tony, who isn’t staring at much of anything and instead has his face buried in his gauntlets.  

Poor Tony. He’d actually managed to carve out a short vacation for himself and had been very enthusiastic about the special taping of the Mythbusters season finale that the producers had requested Captain America, Iron Man, and Thor to guest star on.  He, Thor, and Tony had actually been on their way to the taping site when their alerts had gone off, and instead of the superhero obstacle course they were going to participate in, they’d had to double back around to Sotheby’s because Amora had attacked the auction house in search of an amulet.

The Blue Ādaraya, Thor had said, had the power to make the wearer entirely irresistible and could serve as a conduit for True Love. It had, at one point, belonged to Empress Theodora and later Shah Jahan, but it first belonged to the mystical sages of Vanaheim and was even more potent in the hands of a skilled magic user.

Amora, who’s nothing if not dedicated to the ideal of making Thor hers one way or another, had _plans_ for the amulet, but Clint had quickly filched it and started the most high-stakes game of keep-away Steve’s ever had the (mis)fortune of being involved in.

Amora had _really_ lost her temper by the time the Steve got hold of the amulet, and she’d screeched and called him a ‘stubborn old goat’ before throwing a golden bolt of magic at him when he refused to give it up. Amora missed him, however, and hit the amulet instead, and there had been an awful cracking sound and then the amulet had begun to hiss and throb with mystical energy and Tony had shouted Steve’s name and there was the familiar whine of rapidly approaching repulsors, and then a flare of energy, and…

Well.

Thor clears his throat awkwardly, and all of their attention shifts over to him. “I will away and track down Amora, that she might undo this most foul enchantment.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t caused by the amulet exploding?” Wanda frowns and waves a hand, tendrils of red energy wrapping around the pieces and lifting them into the air. Once the shards of the Blue Ādaraya float into her palm, she eyes the largest piece skeptically, as if it has another horrifying trick up its sleeve. Steve doubts it. The shards don’t look like much now, grayish-blue and flatly matte with no sort of inner spark.

The unshattered amulet though, that was a showstopper alright. The Blue Ādaraya had been a gleaming nest of delicate silver filigree adorned with flawless blue diamonds, and in the center of it all had been a massive heart-cut sapphire, deep vivid blue and reflecting an inner fire that caused it to sparkle and glimmer as the light played across its faceted surface. It had reminded Steve of Tony’s eyes, cold and unyielding, deep and secretive, warm and brilliant, always shifting from one to the other and back again.

Tony’s still cursing under his breath, not that it matters because everyone else is ignoring him in favor of the elephant in the room.

On the sidewalk, more accurately.

And not an elephant, really, so much as a…

A goat.

Steve glances up at Tony to offer up a bit of comfort because, well, Tony looks like he really needs it, but when he opens his mouth to speak all that comes out is a startlingly loud bleat.

Tony’s howl of frustration carries in the stricken aftermath.

 

* * *

 

 

It had taken a minor miracle to get Steve back to the mansion in the first place so they could all return home, and along the way, Steve had eaten a cardboard box belonging to a grifter that Tony had given a hundred bucks to in recompense, a copy of the Bugle that had been blowing down Fifth Avenue, and then almost an entire pizza Tony had picked up from La Fresca and used to lure Steve back towards the mansion with, slice by slice. The last slice of pizza had been pilfered by Clint when they got inside the mansion, and then Steve had eaten most of the box too. Tony hadn’t been able to do anything except watch him in stunned horror, because what the fuck.

Steve had then trotted his happy goat behind into the mansion and climbed up right on top of Tony's Chateau D’Ax sofa and proceeded to eat it, too.

“This is the best day ever.”

Tony glances over at Clint, who’s gleefully snapping pictures and probably texting them to every damn body they know. He’s not alone. Carol is mostly bemused by the whole thing, as is Thor, fresh from his search for Amora, though he also seems sincerely apologetic that Amora’s ongoing obsession has left Steve as the latest casualty. They’re all clustered around the common room watching Steve, though nothing particularly exciting has happened since the initial transformation.

Tony groans quietly as the suede coach rips under Steve’s attention and begins to catalogue the day’s observations.

Steve is becoming more goat-like in personality with every moment--observation one.

Two, magic is an awful tool for awful people, and he _really, really_ despises it.

Last, the universe hates him.

“This is bullshit!” Everyone jumps at Tony's frustrated outburst, and yeah, he probably shouldn’t be so agitated, but no, really, this is _so much bullshit._ No one’s day is supposed to end with them being changed into a goat by a crazed Asgardian stalker with a crush, but here they are. Tony huffs out a long sigh and glances over at Steve again.

Who is a goat.

Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, is a goat.

And eating his fucking coach.

Tony’s never missed drinking so much in his life.

“Has _anyone_ heard from Strange yet?”

A round of negative replies comes from the Avengers. What the hell good is it having a master of the mystic arts on tap if they’re never around when you need them?

What a mess.

Tony is not even sorry that they’ve been running Strange down like a dog, but they’ve got a mighty need for his services since Wanda doesn’t feel up to the task.

The idea of using Wanda’s magic was floated almost immediately, but Wanda’s powers derive from chaos, and she is reluctant to add her abilities to what is already a potent mixture of ancient displaced power, Amora’s magic, and... whatever the hell is going on with him.

Tony surreptitiously glances down at his palm. It’s still there.

He doesn’t know _what_ it is really, but his hand started burning almost immediately after he jumped in to shield Steve from the arcane blast, and when he finally got his gauntlets off, he’d picked up an interesting body modification. He honestly doesn’t know what to make of the pale silver filigree covering the inside of his palm, or the (actually quite beautiful) stylized shield in the center of it all, that is quite obviously a combination of Steve’s rather iconic shield, and his old arc reactor.

Tony closes his hand enough that he can trace the bottom half of it with his middle finger, and a warm curl of something light and joyous winds around his heart. There is a sort of answering recognition in the metaphysical distance, and then something butts against his leg.

The goat--Steve--is standing in front of him now, staring up at him. So is everyone else in the room. Tony traces one of the massive horns curling up and back on Steve’s head, and tries not to read too much into the way the goat-- _Steve, dammit_ \--leans into the touch.

“We’ll get you fixed up, Steve.”

_I know, Tony. You always do._

Tony startles, because the last thing he’s been expecting out of all this is to have Steve’s voice in his head. Cautious relief begins to sneak into his mind, alongside curiosity and wariness. Steve’s in his mind. Or...is he in Steve’s mind? Is this permanent? Is it really Steve? It…it feels like Steve? It’s Steve’s mental voice, and something inside him _knows_ it’s Steve, but rationally, it could be anyone or anything. There are plenty of telepaths in the world and no small number in New York.

And what, exactly, would anyone have to gain by tricking him into believing Steve was in his head?

Occam’s Razor: the simplest solution is usually the correct one. Tony had touched Steve with the magical sigil in his palm, and now he could hear his thoughts.

Please, please, let it be that simple. Tony stuffs his hands into his pockets and focuses on Steve.

Steve stares patiently back at him, but...he doesn’t hear him.

Was it a fluke?

Wait. Back up. Repeat what he’d done the first time.

Tony pulled his sigil-marked hand out and caressed the sigil again. There was that pleasant curl of sensation, comforting and sweet, and then...there it was. Something purely Steve.

_Hey, Shellhead._

“Steve...is that...are you... _aware?_ ”

_Yeah. Kind of. I keep forgetting I’m not actually a goat after a while. It’s all fuzzy in my mind right now._

Tony stares quietly for a long moment, wonders briefly if he might not be able to just go back to bed and close his eyes and start this day over. This? This is more than anyone can reasonably be expected to put up with. He immediately feels guilty on the heels of that particular sentiment, because, well, he’s not the one who’s actually a goat.

“Um...Tony? You’re talking to the goat.”

Tony looks disgustedly at Clint. “That’s _Steve_.”

“No, that’s a goat, right now. Can you even understand him?”

“Yeah.I’m guessing more magic. Has anyone heard from Strange?”

Carol rolled her eyes. “Not in the last five minutes since you had us try reaching out to him. So. You can talk to goats now?”

“Just this one, thankfully. This is _so_ weird.”

_I know. Um. Sorry I ate your couch? It looked expensive._

“It’s okay, Steve. It was an ugly couch anyway.”

What it _had_ been was a very expensive, very trendy piece of furniture, and his interior designer would weep tears of blood if he ever discovered what had happened to it.

“Hey, Tony, you want to maybe fill in the rest of us?”

Tony glances over at Carol, who doesn’t look much impressed with not being as up-to-date on information as she could be and holds his hand up. “I... this appeared after the Blue Ādaraya exploded. I can...use it to talk to Steve?”

“Let me see it. Maybe I--”

Wanda immediately freezes, hand still outstretched, as he leaps backs away from her while cradling his sigil protectively. There’s a flash of concern across the mental bond, and then a protective surge of emotion, and suddenly Steve is in front of Tony, making angry goat noises and brandishing his horns.

“Caution, good Witch. Soul markings are not safely tampered with. Even the dearest of comrades will rise up in defense.”

Thor’s voice is gentle but firm as he edges his way in front of her. “Peace, Man of Iron. No harm is meant toward you or your bonded.”

“Bonded?!”

Thor nods at Clint’s outburst, and Tony feels that throbbing churn in his gut, the one that comes from being stuck in ridiculous situations and might actually be well on its way to becoming an ulcer by now. He’s about to _really_ despise the next few minutes.

“Aye, Hawkeye. I am no sorcerer, but the mystic blood of the Vanir bred true in my mother’s veins, and Frigga didst fain see me learned.”

Thor is not without moments of gravitas, and he looks each of them straight on in the eye, as if he can impress upon them his intended lesson by sheer force of will. If anyone can pull it off, it’s Thor.

“Love is one of the most powerful goads in existence, a potent magic all its own, and nothing is more intense than what True Love manifests in its protection. Too late, and to their sorrow do those who would hinder it learn their fate.”

“But...that doesn’t explain the funky henna thing Tony’s got going on.”

“Our Captain should be most grievously injured, if not dead, yet he remains whole. And how? You disdain the mystic arts, Man of Iron, and should not have been able to intercede. But whilst you were unable to stave off Amora’s foul hex, you didst leap to our leader’s aid. Mystical energy is not created or destroyed. It transforms, transfers if needs must, and like has always called to like. With its shell destroyed, it sought the nearest conduit of like power.”

“Are you saying that _Tony_ was the nearest conduit of True Love around?” Carol looks incredulous.

“Aye! The Man of Iron’s love for our esteemed captain is most powerful indeed, and it has marked him!”

The silence was back, this time ripe with expectant melodrama as every set of eyes in the room turned to stare at Tony.

It takes a herculean effort not to cave to the weight of all those looks, but he manages, shrugging nonchalantly as he hedges as best he can. “Steve’s one of the best men I know and a very close friend. Of course, I love him.”

No one looks like they believe him even a tiny bit.

Shit.

“Indeed.” Thor’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “A most worthy bond, and I can only begin to guess what other blessings await you. Love is powerful, and those caught under its auspice often inherit many gifts. Mayhap more lies in store for you as the conduit of the Blue Ādaraya."

Tony gibbers internally. More?! He can’t take more of this. He doesn’t like having his emotions so blatantly displayed, and the goat thing is still Very Much A Problem.

As if prompted by his thoughts turning towards goats, Steve trundles away from him and begins to gnaw on the white silk curtains.

He hates magic so very, very much.

“Let’s give Strange another try.”

Tony quickly excuses himself and all but runs away to his room.

* * *

 

Goats are terrifying creatures.

Tony isn’t in the habit of lying to himself, and he’s secure enough in his manhood that he can own up to this simple fact of life.

He ~~loves~~ cares for Steve, really, he does, but the nightmare is never-ending. Goats eat _everything--_ paper, metal, cardboard, wiring, clothes, plants, furniture, decor, _sanity_ ; it doesn’t matter. If it’s there, a goat will attempt to eat it, and if that goat happens to have a serum-jacked metabolism and a bottomless pit for a stomach, nothing is safe.

This lesson, in the continuing trend of Tony's life, is learned the hard way.

Leaving Steve out in the backyard for the night like he was some common barnyard animal, temporarily a goat or not, had felt _wrong._ Weak fool that he is, Tony had simply left Steve in his room, with a bowl of water and the evening’s leftovers in case he got hungry, and assumed that would be enough to tide Steve over until morning. He’d expected Steve to sleep soundly in familiar surroundings.

Instead, Steve ate the curtains, a magazine, most of a boot, and had started in on part of the bedsheets by the time Tony showed up to collect him. The leftovers were gone, as was the water, and an utterly foul stench was emanating from the corner that he honestly didn’t want to contemplate but would have to deal with eventually because Jarvis would snap and murder them all if confronted with it.

Goats are lawless creatures, put forth on the earth with disaster in their hearts and ruin in their gaze.

Tony damn well _deserves_ the premium caramel pecan dark roast coffee he’s drinking this morning when Clint and Carol make their way into the kitchen for breakfast. There is an awkward silence that Tony resolutely ignores in favor of savoring his third cup because he’s paid his dues this morning and someone else can fucking coax Steve off from on top of the fridge. Steve’s climbed everything else in sight already, _including_ _the cabinets_ , and he’s content to let Steve have it. If it’s even Steve anymore. Tony’s tried to focus on his magical tattoo or whatever the hell it is, but nothing works. Steve’s not in there right now, and he can’t figure out if it’s temporary or if the goat brain is all that’s left and Steve is _gone._ He should have stayed awake, he should have kept Steve with him, he should’ve--no.

No, he's just overreacting. Steve’s not permanently a goat or anything, Strange can fix it, they just need to wait for him. And until then, Steve is okay. Just distracted with...goat things. Goat things like climbing all over his furniture and eating anything that catches his eye and occupying that strange space between cute and really fucking weird. No need to panic.

The coffee is very hot, and very good, and Tony is very, very _done._

Clint shrugs at the scene and strolls forward to pour himself a cup of coffee--and it had better be an actual coffee cup because he’ll strangle him if he pulls that drinking straight from the coffee pot shit again--and suddenly Steve leans over from his vantage atop the fridge so that he’s looking Clint dead in the face, square pupils wide in those pure blue eyes.

Clint blinks slowly and mumbles a good morning at Steve as he reaches directly for the pot.

Son of a bitch.

Before Tony can open his mouth, however, a horrific noise shatters the peaceful lull. It sounds like someone being murdered. It sounds like the mating call of a demon in heat. Clint, understandably, leaps back from the goat screaming in his face with a panicked yell of his own. It goes on for nearly a minute and a half, Clint shrieking like a child while a crazed beefy goat yells in his face.

Tony resolutely continues to drink his coffee, refusing to mentally engage with this fresh hell.

“To arms, comrades! We are besieged by forsaken spirits! The _Draugr_ come!” Thor bursts into the room, Mjolnir raised for battle, and stumbles to a halt, a sleepily befuddled expression on his face. “There is no battle?”

Poor guy. He looks really excited about the whole early morning combat thing, but nope. No demons or ghouls here. Just Clint, and a goat, and the last shreds of Tony's mental fortitude.

Clint, who is still being menaced by an enraged goat, gives up all pretenses and seeks shelter on top of the island counter to get away. Given that Steve has spent most of the morning on top of the _fridge,_ it’s a moot point, really, and Steve simply lunges at the countertop and occasionally plants his front hooves on top of it to butt at Clint’s feet or legs, and sometimes just to make a weird screaming warble at him that almost sounds like a name, but also closely resembles a helpless creature being strangled.

“Jesus Christ, Tony, calm him down!” Carol snaps, and gestures angrily at his hand. “You have that magical bond or whatever, _do something_!”

“I _tried._ I couldn’t feel or hear Steve at all in there!” Tony bangs his coffee mug down on the table, ire immediately rising as his _true_ issue with the morning gets flung in his face. Steve’s supposed to be in there, dammit, but all he can feel is an unsettling _emptiness_ on the other end of the bond, like Steve’s not there anymore. He can feel the goat, but not _Steve,_ and out of all the nightmarish ways he’s dreaded losing Steve, he’d never envisioned this.

It’s ridiculous, for fuck’s sake. Ridiculous and embarrassing and oh God, this whole mess. What’s that godawful saying of Logan’s? Doesn’t know whether to shit or go blind? That’s where he is right now, torn between horror and just...laughing hysterically at the utter ridiculousness of it all until he’s in tears and getting hauled off by nice gentlemen while sporting a designer straitjacket.

“That is troubling indeed, but we are a learned and mighty lot. I do not doubt that between all of us, we might not uncover a way to right this mischief cast upon our bold Captain.” Thor rests a companionable hand on Jan’s shoulder, gesturing cheerfully with Mjolnir. One of these days Thor is going to knock out a light fixture. Tony just knows it.

“Come, fair Wasp! We shall see if we might uncover Amora and demand she undo this foul curse.”

“Definitely!” Jan’s grin is bright, and there is no doubt that she’s missed the insanity of being around the mansion. Tony’s surprised Jan actually waited a whole day and didn’t just turn up immediately once Clint started texting everybody about this whole “Steve got turned into a goat” fiasco.

Thor’s actions, bless him, manage to help reign things in, thanks to his unassuming conviviality. Clint gets shooed out the kitchen, Carol takes it upon herself to try rounds fifteen through twenty-six of attempting to get in touch with Stephen Strange, and Wanda squirrels herself away to see what magical solutions she can come up with.

Mainly, they all just want Steve out the mansion, and that means Tony’s getting tossed out too, never mind that it’s technically his mansion.

This is going to be one of _those_ days.

* * *

 

Luckily, there’s a really massive park literally a stone’s throw away, and the day is nice, and the giant goat at Tony's side has calmed down considerably since they hit the fresh (for Manhattan) air. Central Park is massive, and the impromptu collar and leash he’s created for Steve out of one of his belts and a few yards of ballistic nylon lets him keep an eye on him while allowing the illusion of free rein, so it’s a win for them both. It makes for a hell of an image, Tony Stark in a three-piece pinstripe Gucci walking a goat half his size and built like a tank. A few of the more intrepid park-goers approach and ask to pet Steve, and there are more than a few photo-ops, but this is New York, home of the absurd, so the novelty wears off fairly quickly.

By the time they make it halfway through the park, Tony’s plowing down a burrito and Steve’s wiped out most of a pretzel stand, three baskets of fries and a veggie burger, another panhandler’s cardboard sign, and is now attempting to eat Tony's pants. Tony manages to ward him off by petting the top of his head and stroking his horns, and Steve tries to give up being a goat in favor of becoming a lapdog. A curl of genuine affection winds through Tony as he strokes surprisingly soft goat hair and pulses along the bond and across the metaphysical gulf where Steve should be. The goat stares up at him with eyes that seem to gleam with self-awareness that wasn’t there earlier, before gently butting his leg.

“Holy fuck, Steve?”

_Hey, Tony._

“Steve!” Tony drops down into a nearby bench and grins as Steve rests his head on his leg. “I thought you were gone, Winghead! You’ve been pretty damn goat-y all morning.”

_Oh. Sorry. I tried to focus and stay in control, but it got too hard and then I just...faded away? It felt like going to sleep and this was all a dream._

“Do you remember anything?”

 _Not really?_ _I just remember feelings and impressions, honestly. I felt this amazing warmth a few minutes ago, though, and then you were right there. I guess you woke me up, Shellhead.”_

There were no words for the relief and fondness welling up inside of him, so Tony just stroked Steve a bit more between the horns. Okay. Steve was back. He can handle this. He just has to keep him focused. Maybe someone has come up with a useful update by now. He’s honestly very tempted to let Wanda take a crack at it after all. He absolutely does not want to deal with Steve fuzzing out on him again. It’s a very disconcerting feeling, and what if he doesn’t come back to awareness one of those times?

“Here, hold on real quick, Steve. I’m going to make a phone call.”

He’s got his Razr phone out and is ringing Carol when a sudden aggressive squawk and a surge of irritation that isn’t his washes over him. It calls to mind the look of irritation Steve gives D-list villains for wasting his time before he knocks them a good one. It’s all there; the glare, the frown, the way he sets his jaw, and clenches his shield strap. Tony half expects to see Steve there in full Captain Regalia when he glances up from his phone, but the reality is much more ridiculous.

Steve has chewed through the lead and is facing off with a swan, dropping his head and shaking his horns at it threateningly while the swan hisses and flaps its wings, completely undeterred. Of course, Steve goes and picks a fight with an asshole, and since he’s no longer human, it’s perfectly in character for him to find the biggest asshole _animal_ around. Honestly, Tony hates swans just as much as they apparently hate everyone else, but letting Steve kick the shit out of an uppity duck seems excessive.

“Steve, leave the dumb swan alone.”

No reply.

Fuck.

He really wishes he had the armor right now, because he _knows_ the damage that swans can do and doesn’t fancy a broken arm, but before he can safely separate them, the swan takes off, flapping away to go terrorize some other poor creature deeper in the park, and Steve is going off on a tear into the bustling pathways of Central Park.

Dammit.  

By the time Tony gets a hold of Steve again, he has knocked a mugger off a bridge, attacked another swan in defense of a harried jogger, and battled a few members of the local police. The ticket is almost a given, as is the threat of animal control, so Tony figures it’s time to drag Steve back to the Mansion.

By all rights, the trip through the park should be peaceful and entirely uneventful, save for Steve maybe taking a moment to antagonize that swan if it’s back around, but he is Tony Stark, and the universe hates him, so when they cross Gapstow Bridge, he can hear panicked yelling.

There’s barely enough time for him to register the commotion and get curious before Bulldozer and Thunderball plow through a crowd of bicyclists, Piledriver and Wrecker on their heels.

They’re heading straight for them, and Steve is flooding their bond with belligerence. When Tony tries to back away and at least get off the bridge, Steve plants his feet and strains against the leash, ready to dart forward.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

“It’s Stark!”

“I don’t see the Iron Dipshit around, either! Grab him!”

“Is that a goat!?”

Tony has just enough time to activate the emergency signal on his Avengers id card for backup before he’s snatched up by Bulldozer and held in place with superhuman strength as the Wrecking Crew form a defensive wall around him, daring the police to try anything.

“Stay put, Stark.”

Well, it’s not like he has any other options at the moment.

“Let him go and put your weapons down!”

It takes everything in him not to roll his eyes. Has that ever worked for anyone, ever, in the history of law enforcement?  

NYPD has never been able to handle the Wrecking Crew; why they think they can _now,_ especially when the Crew has a hostage, is baffling. He can’t quite suppress the flash of irritation at being used as a hostage either. Honestly? He regrets the whole secret identity thing. It had been bad enough hiding it from the other Avengers, but even with that obstacle gone, he still has to keep things secret from the general public. He’s just Tony Stark to them right now, but they’d probably think twice about trying to hold Iron Man hostage.

Maybe.

Wrecker and his crew don’t generally make good choices, anyway.

His captors shake him about, making it clear to the police that they have no qualms about hurting him if they don’t back off. Not for the first time, Tony imagines a life where he said to hell with a secret identity, called up a press conference, and announced to the world at large that he was Iron Man and they could all kiss his (rear). It would’ve been so much simpler and less stressful.

There’s a loud indignant bleat, and Steve is dashing toward Wrecker himself.

There’s no way Steve’s going to come out of this on top, none at all. Wrecker has an enchanted crowbar that gives him and his cronies superpowers, and Steve’s a _goat._ These louts regularly batter Thor about with ease. They have super strength, super speed, and suspect morals.

Steve’s going to get his brains knocked out.  

“Steve, no! _No!_ ” Tony struggles in Bulldozer’s grasp while Piledriver and Thunderball continue to menace the police. Wrecker looks entirely too gleeful about the prospect of hitting the goat coming at him, hitting _Steve._  

Tony’s stomach plummets as Steve doesn’t change his course. Steve doesn’t have the shield, he doesn’t have any armor, and any one of the Crew can bench press almost 10 tons. Steve is _vulnerable,_ and all Tony can see in his mind’s eye is Steve’s crushed and broken goat body. They don’t know it’s Captain America. They wouldn’t care even if they _did_ know. Tony clenches his fist, gorge rising, because Steve’s about to be murdered, and the dread certainty sets his scalp prickling. _Steve._

Tony needs to get free, he needs to save Steve, he wishes he had something, anything, to help him. The urge to protect Steve hammers in his chest, in his heart, and pulses along the bond, a desperate, consuming desire to thwart what is sure to be a fatal encounter. He wishes with all of his being that Steve would be protected. Anything, he would give anything to somehow encase Steve in his own Iron Man armor.

“STEVE!”

The bond surges with heat, and warm golden light bursts out of his hand and flares brightly, engulfing the area. When the flare dies down, Steve is standing tall in a magnificent set of armor.

Metallic red caps adorn Steve’s horns starting about halfway down, and a second entirely metallic, red set protrudes from the gleaming white helmet that now covers his face, a few inches lower than the first set of horns, and curving downward. Smooth white plating with golden accents covers all of his torso and legs, and, when combined with the blue Kevlar barding and red armor over his hooves, Steve looks like a goat version of Captain America.

Which, okay, accurate.

Honestly, all Steve is missing is his shield.

An incredulous silence settles over everyone as they stare at the most patriotic goat alive. A few of the NYPD officers actually switch their aim over to Steve, not sure who to trust anymore. The Wrecking Crew are all just as stunned, and the only sound heard above the background noise created by the park at large is Thunderball’s plaintive, “ _Why?”_

Steve plows straight into Wrecker, knocking him off of his feet, and before the villain can stand up, a hammer smashes into Piledriver. Piledriver can sometimes hold against Mjolnir, but caught off guard? The point goes to Thor, and Piledriver goes flying backwards to land on top of Wrecker. Steve lets a surprisingly horrifying bleat and menaces the pair of them with his horns while the rest of the Avengers come running towards them.

Tony renews his struggles against Bulldozer, aided by the chaos, but it isn’t until Carol flies in and punches his captor in the back of the head that he manages to free himself.

It’s a free-for-all now, and Tony makes his way to the huddle of police, unable to do much without his armor. Thor is battering Wrecker and Piledriver with his hammer while Steve butts at their legs and backs, keeping them off-balance and vulnerable to the demigod’s attack. Wanda, Jan, and Vision have Thunderball well in hand, and Clint and his trick arrows keep Bulldozer from rallying effectively against Carol’s continued pummeling.

Steve finally manages to knock Wrecker's crowbar out of his hand, and without the key to their powers, the next few moments are very, very ugly for them. The police take possession of the crowbar and arrange for prisoner transport for the now unconscious Wrecking Crew while the Avengers huddle up around Steve and Tony.

“You okay, Tony?” Jan, still shrunk down, settles on his shoulder and neatly crosses one leg over the other.

“Steve here had my back.” Steve saunters over proudly and lets out a happy noise when Tony gives him an affectionate pat.

“Aye, it was a well-fought battle, Steven, and truly, you are a lucky man. Amulets such as the Blue Ādaraya only react as strongly as the emotions abled to be channeled into it. It is a mighty and true love Stark harbors for you, to produce such profound results.”

Tony tamps down on the panic that rises and plasters on his best smile. “Of course! Steve here is one of my dearest friends, and I thought he was about to get splattered by Wrecker!”

Everyone looks at Steve, who looks like an escapee from some random robot anime, and then back at Tony in varying stages of disbelief, and Tony does his best to brazen it out. It’s embarrassing enough that his ridiculous fixation on Steve has been so thoroughly exposed, but he doesn’t need it brought up every other second. He knows well enough that Steve doesn’t reciprocate--they’ve known each too long and been through too much for dissembling. If Steve were interested, something would have been said already. His only hope now is to just let this all blow over as random magical insanity and play it cool so that their friendship isn’t jeopardized. What he _doesn’t_ need is everyone constantly thwarting that effort.

It’s Carol who suggests that Steve needs to be bathed when they get back to the mansion, and that’s fair. Goats aren’t the sweetest smelling animals in the first place, and between the exposure to the outdoors and the dirt and grime accumulated from the park excursion, Steve has gotten pretty damn ripe. Tony tries to sneak out of it, but the task falls to him and Clint, who is going to damn well earn his keep because that carnie background has to account for _something_. Steve needs a bath, Clint has skills. They can get some soap, hose him down in the backyard, and call it a day.

It’s not like cleaning a goat is rocket science.

* * *

 

There is a list of Incidents That _No One Discusses On Pain Of Death_.

The Time Jan Got Knocked Into The World’s Filthiest Porta Potty.

The Time Thor Lost A Fight To A Belligerent Rat.

The Time They Had To Deal With The Guy Who Could Control Roaches.

A bruised, soggy, traumatized Clint adds The Time They Had To Clean Goat-Steve to the list.

Clint may never forgive Steve.

Tony seconds the addition and mournfully trashes the Gucci suit.

* * *

 

The first clue Tony has that something is wrong comes when he wanders into the kitchen for coffee. Carol, Clint, Wanda, and Thor are huddled over a newspaper, laughing and giggling. Clint sees him first and snickers, then throws up devil horns while wagging his tongue. It’s like the revenge of KISS photoshoots past.

“Uh, Gene Simmons, what is your major malfunction?”

Carol grins and holds up the morning’s edition of the Bugle.

Oh _no._

There is a picture of him walking Steve through Central Park. “Tony Stark, Satan Worshiper?” Below it in a sub headline, “Eccentric Billionaire Lets Sacrificial Battle Goat Run Amuck in Central Park.”

Tony glances down at Steve, who is sleepily chewing on the hem of his pajama bottoms, and gently scratches the spot between Steve’s horns. Steve isn’t a dog, but Tony’s learned that the same principles tend to apply. Steve makes a happy bleat, and Tony grins down at him.

“Whaddya say we head down to the Bugle and you kick Jameson out of his office window?”

He isn’t charmed by the happy wag of Steve’s tail.

He isn’t.

“It’s trash anyway.” Wanda levitates the paper over to the trashcan and incinerates it in a burst of red magic. “It’s good that you’re here, Tony. We decided that we should try to restore the Captain to his rightful form ourselves.”

Tony’s hand drops reflexively to Steve’s back, and he slowly runs the flat of his palm back and forth, not sure if he's soothing himself or Steve.

“I thought we agreed that your magic was too random to risk being mingled with whatever I have going on?”

“Would you rather risk losing Steve’s mind entirely to the goat form he’s been cursed with? You yourself said that it takes longer and longer for Steve to come back to himself, and we’ve heard nothing from Strange. At this rate, we directly risk Steve simply not coming back to himself. Can you abide that on your conscience? I can’t.”

Well, when it was put like that... “What will you need to do? Are there any sort of protections we can use to stack the deck in our favor?”

“I believe so, shield-brother.” Thor gestures grandly with a strip of bacon, “The Witch is powerful, and when combined with your own current abilities, we can provide some manner of safety for our cursed leader.”

“When do we do this?”

Wanda straightens up, a decisive resolve settling on her shoulders. “This evening after dinner. I will need time to prepare.”

* * *

 

Being fair, he’s not so much _nervous_ about this as he is just leery of the whole situation. He’s never been the biggest fan of magic in the first place, and the mark on his hand has already proven itself to be erratic. Wanda’s powers are chaos incarnate; this could go very badly for Steve. Steve still hasn’t “woken up” entirely since the park, save for a few brief flashes of emotion, and he shares Wanda and Thor’s fear that any longer in this state will be the end of Steve. This is their best option; Strange is still out of touch, and Amora has continued to elude Thor’s searches.

Tony feeds Steve well, just in case, as if that will somehow make up for the potential horror-show that might be inflicted, then bends down to stroke a hand over Steve’s meticulously brushed hair and sneak in a hug while no one’s around. Hopefully Steve won’t remember any of this if it _does_ work out right.  

“Alright, Winghead. We’re going to fix you, okay? Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to mess it up. You’re a great guy, and just...you’re the best, Steve. It’s going to be okay.”

“Are you trying to convince him or yourself of that, Tony?”

Years of boardroom politicking is the only thing that stops Tony from visibly flinching, even if it _is_ just Jan, who’s never meant him any harm a day of his life.

“You should really tell Steve how you feel, Tony. Everyone can see it already, just like we can all see that Steve--”

“Steve has Sharon. And Billie. And a whole slew of other options.” Tony shakes his head, a bitter twist to his lips. “Steve likes women, and even if that weren’t the case, he could do so much better than me. I’m not going to ruin our friendship by pushing for more than I deserve.”

“Thor told me about the amulet, Tony. True love. Something that potent can’t be one-sided.”

Jan always did end up on the optimistic side of the scale. Tony’s a realist, though, and he knows how this goes for him. He’ll be lucky if he even has a friendship to salvage with Steve after this all dies down.

“Leave it, Jan.”

“Tony, you--”

“ _Please.”_

Jan frowns, but nods after a quiet moment. “Alright. Wanda says she’s ready whenever you are.”

“On it.” Tony gives Steve another quick pat, then stands up and reaches out a hand to guide Steve toward the backyard.

“Thanks, Jan.”

“I just think you should be happy.”

“You think _everyone_ should, honey.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“It’s why we love you.”

“Not as much as you love Steve, though.”

Tony doesn’t reply.

Wanda is waiting for them in the backyard, away from the pool. A large circle is drawn on the ground in chalk and outlined in a wide variety of pale crystal chips. There is an inner circle around Steve’s shield made up of black stone chips that seem to naturally draw Tony to it.   

“Clear quartz for awareness of higher self, selenite for clarity of the mind and concentration, and sodalite for self-truth, bridging the gap between the higher mind and physical level. The shield is vibranium, and as it was present for the casting, it should also be present for the unwinding.”

“And the other circle?” Tony asks as he moves forward, only to be stopped by Wanda before he can cross into the circle.

“Black tourmaline. It removes negative energies and repels psychic and negative energy attacks. It’s useful for removing curses. That’s for Steve. Your circle is there.”

She gestures for Tony to stand in the smaller circle a few feet away from the quartz and selenite circle as Jan leads a heartbreakingly solemn goat to the tourmaline circle. It’s almost like the goat can pick up on his emotions. Maybe Steve’s back?

Tony reaches out across the bond for Steve, but it’s still disturbingly empty. He sends a burst of affection down the proverbial line anyway and continues to follow Wanda.

The secondary circle he arrives at is created with the shards of the Blue Ādaraya. A thrum of energy goes through him, somehow familiar and soothing, but distinctly not his own. It feels like the tingle that had gone through him when he initially leapt for Steve when the amulet had started cracking, and he can’t help the paranoia that surfaces. What’s going to happen _now?_ He can’t bring himself to believe there’ll be no complications. It’s magic. Something weird always happens.

“Concentrate on Steve, Tony, and it will be fine.” Wanda’s voice is gently chiding as she takes her own spot outside the circle and lifts her hands.

Focus on Steve.

Right.

He can do that, no problem.

“Our fair Witch does not cast with incantations, but this is a mixture of Asgardian curses and Vanir sorcery, and we would see the risk lightened. You must remain silent once we begin.” Thor moves to Tony’s circle, parallel Wanda yet outside the barrier of crystals.

“We?”

“Aye. Asgardian magic was the catalyst for our cursed friend’s state, and it shall be the trigger for this night’s work. Mjolnir will provide Wanda the mystic spark she needs.”

He’s going to be electrocuted and stricken with bunny ears when this is over.

Jan heads back into the relative safety of the mansion, joining Clint (who is munching popcorn in the common room’s window, and Carol (who is sipping from her coffee mug).

Wanda nods at Thor, who calls down a massive bolt of lightning from Mjolnir. The night air begins to stink of ozone and sharp heat while the hairs on Tony’s arm and the back of his neck prickle with static electricity. Tony has to blink and turn his gaze aside, the brilliant blue-white lightning near-blinding. The crackling and popping electricity forms into a ball of what Tony would swear must be plasma it’s so concentrated, and Thor hurls it straight at Wanda when she nods.

Wanda’s scarlet tendrils of magic wrap around the ball of lightning, letting it hover in front of her as she begins to chant above the voltaic din.

“By Love’s own hand, by craft and art, unbind, dismiss and fly apart! Through powers aligned this curse now fall, the form of old reveal, recall!”

Wanda turns and hurls the mystic ball of energy straight at Steve, who lets out a panicked cry and collapses down on the shield like he’s hugging it.

Horror surges through Tony at Steve’s reaction, and he instantly reaches into the bond to hurl reassurance and every positive thing he is capable of feeling across it. Normally it feels like he’s reaching out to a vague nothingness, but this time there is a demanding _pull_ , like grasping hands latching onto his innermost core and seizing a tendril of it to pull. It’s thin and almost frail at first, and the certain knowledge that he can’t let the connection weaken and fail washes over him.

This is for Steve, and he can’t screw it up for him. He _won’t._

Tony lets his emotions swirl across the connection between himself and Steve, not fighting the rising demand for more and more of his affections, until it feels like he is surrendering every iota of what he is to the pull, flooding the bond with his love and affection and desire to have Steve safe and whole. The thin tendril now feels like a heavy rope, sturdy and woven tightly so that nothing could easily break it.

The blue-white energy and red magic that has been crackling over the shield is suddenly entwined with warm gold light, and the three energies twine around each other, slamming through Steve and into the shield. Instead of dissipating, the energy is conducted through the shield and is instantly flung against the black tourmaline circle, and then the energy spreads out, following the flowing script and sigils drawn in between the circles until the whole thing is pulsing and glowing with the three different energies. Steve glows more and more as the spell takes hold, and then there is a flash of energy, much the same as when the amulet had originally exploded. There’s a shattering of glass in the background as a shockwave explodes out from the circle, knocking Tony ass over teakettle, and then everything dies down back into a strained silence.

Tony lays stunned on the ground for a long moment, face planted on a pebbled paver, his dazed senses struggling to get back up to spec. Urgency floods him when he gets his bearings, because that shockwave had come from the primary circle, and--

“STEVE!”

Tony is up and running for Steve’s circle, skidding to a halt as a figure groans. It’s a very human sounding thing, full of weariness and dazed confusion, and it’s in Steve’s voice.

“Shit, Steve! I thought we’d lost you!” Tony steps into the circle, lips twitching into a smirk because Steve is naked as a jaybird, and he’s going to give him so much grief once he uncurls from his fetal position.

“Let’s get you--”

Steve stiffens suddenly, and there is a surge of energy and a flash of light, and…

Goat.

DAMMIT.

“Wanda, what the hell?”

“I warned you before we began that it might not work--there is wild magic afoot here, and my own powers work on improbabilities, not formal spells. There _might_ be a way to lengthen the duration, however?”

“What happened, though? Steve was beefy before, but he looks…” Tony trails off, because he doesn’t want to offend Steve. Steve looks like a weak breeze could knock him off his feet.

Hooves.

Dammit.

This is...Steve’s the wimpiest looking goat he’s ever seen. Not quite malnourished, but…wow. Definitely not the goat he was yesterday.

Wanda frowns and sighs irritably. “This may be _my_ fault, actually. Perhaps I should have been more specific when I called for the ‘form of old’. Incantations can be so particular.”

“It’s okay, Wanda. You and Thor did what you could.” Tony sighs and reaches out to run a hand over Steve’s head.

There is a surge of energy and a flash of light, and then, Steve is back, but...skinny.

“What the--” Tony starts to lift his hand away, but Steve latches on to his arm with startling speed.

“No! Don’t let me change into a goat again!” Steve’s voice is uncharacteristically panicked, and Tony can’t fault him for that at all. This has got to be the most disconcertingly weird day he’s gone through since he woke up in the future, and Tony’s not going to be the one to make it worse.

“I’ve got you, Steve.” Tony helps him up, marveling at how light Steve is. Gone are the muscles and bulky proportions. Steve’s still the same height, but his features look more delicate and he’s slender now. Not painfully skinny, exactly, but there’s a whipcord quality to his physique, and his long arms and broad shoulders reveal hidden definition as he moves. This Steve is definitely built for agility over strength, and Tony realises with a start that this is what Steve looks like in good health without the serum. Built like a figure skater but probably still willing to try and rip a tank apart with his bare hands.

There is a loud curse as Clint, Jan, and Carol approach, and Steve rolls his eyes when Clint slaps a bill into both Carol and Jan’s palms.

“Thanks for gambling over my plight.” Steve mumbles as Thor calmly ties his cloak around Steve’s waist in an impromptu sarong.

Carol looks Steve over with an assessing frown.

“What’s the story? You’ll change back into a goat now if you’re not touching Tony?”

“Forget the goat thing, Danvers. Where did the other 80% of you go?”

“ _Nice,_ Clint.” Jan’s voice sounds like it’s anything but.

“I’m just saying! What, do you want me to ignore that Cap looks like he weighs a buck twenty-five?!” Clint defends himself, looking indignantly around the cluster of Avengers.

“Just ignore him, Steve.” Jan pats Steve’s back consolingly. "You look like you crawled out of a Calvin Klein ad, more than anything.”

“Uh, thanks? I guess?”

Poor Steve. He sounds nothing so much as just plain _weary_ , and Tony feels for him. It’s been a very strange few days. Tony ignores the argument erupting between Jan and Clint and gestures toward door.

“Back inside, Cap?”

Steve nods gratefully, and Tony pulls out the blankest face in his arsenal when Steve links their arms tighter as he walks him back to the mansion. Steve is half-naked and plastered to his side, and now Tony has to stop himself from springing wood as Steve’s body shifts and rubs against his while his pathetic heart goes pitter-patter like he’s a schoolboy with a crush. Which, to be fair, he was. This torch he carriest for Steve was lit a _very_ long time ago.

24/7 attachment to Steve. This is _infinitely_ worse than the goat thing.

* * *

 

Thor and Jan, who have been regaling Steve in the common room with the most recent events after shucking him into a pair of Tony’s blue jeans (ratty and broken-in and altogether too loose) and one of his shirts (oversized soft white linen that smelled entirely of expensive cologne and heated metal and _Tony_ ) share a quick look, like it’s the most awkward situation they’ve ever been trapped in.

They’re not wrong.

Steve doesn’t remember much of his time as a goat. He remembers a few impulses here and there, but the bulk of his memory is the impression of being held safe and cherished and surrounded by a glow of affection and abiding love and all the best parts of Tony he hid from the world. Being a goat had been hectic and confusing and _weird,_ and rather than face it, he’d been selfish and let himself sink into the gentle fuzz of Tony’s emotional warmth. Everyone has been eager to fill him in on the last few days, except for Tony, who has been disturbingly silent and looks like the only thing stopping him from bolting and hiding away four counties over is the fact that Steve is holding on for dear life to the man’s arm.

It’s damned _aggravating._ Tony loves him. He can _feel_ it, and he could hug Amora because this whole mess has put paid to almost a decade’s worth of pining and yearning on his part. He’s not been subtle, but Tony is the master of poker faces, and for all their closeness he couldn’t get a clear read on Tony. Not on this. He’d been content to let things lie because he’ll be damned if he ruins their friendship by greedily pushing for more, but he _knows_ now that Tony reciprocates.

This should be the best moment of his life. He _finally_ gets Tony. He loves Tony, Tony loves him--there’s no doubt of that between anybody bearing witness to the last few days, and especially him--and it should all be so _simple._

Should be.

Instead, he has to sit here and watch Tony damn near have a stroke over the whole damn thing, has to watch as he blatantly backpedals away from everything they could be, denying it all as he frantically builds an defensive wall between them.

Tony loves him.

Tony doesn’t want him.

Maybe it’s the lack of serum? It hurts, to think that Tony could be so shallow, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he’s no great prize like this.

Oh, he’s never been ashamed of his body, never thought he was unattractive or ill-formed, and it’s nice to find out that even though he’s temporarily without the serum, the years of proper medical attention, rich food, and high quality of life that only comes from exposure to luxury (bless you, Tony) is enough that he he’s filled out some and is still quite healthy. But he’s not conventionally attractive. Not like Tony’s usual fare.

But that can’t be it.

This is love, the stuff of legends and fairytales, the kind of love that inspires heroes and enduring works of art. Steve suddenly reverting to his pre-serum self shouldn’t be any sort of deterrent. What is going on?

A twisting unease turns his stomach sour, and it’s everything Steve can do not to hunch in on himself. _Why?_

Tony goes stiff beside him, and Steve feels a flash of self-loathing that isn’t his, but before he can delve inside himself to pry at the nasty emotion brewing across the way, he feels Tony withdraw from him, leaving a burst of desperate reassurance and affection in his mental wake.

A low growl of frustration crawls its way past his vocal cords, and Tony looks even guiltier. Thor shakes his head sadly, and Jan glares irritably at Tony. It’s maddening. Everyone knows how Tony feels, why this deliberate hedging? Does Tony think he won't reciprocate?

“Wow, Cap, you look good in Tony’s clothes.” Jan’s blatant topic change and appreciative once-over ends with her glancing over at Tony, who’s fiddling with his cellphone as if that can deter the brewing confrontation.

Oh for God’s sake...

“To be fair, tall, blonde, and handsome always was your weakness, wasn’t it, Tony?” Good ole’ Jan. At least _someone’s_ in their corner, because it’s for damn sure not Tony.

“Jan!”

Well, look at that. A _response._

Jan blithely steamrolls over Tony’s horrified outburst. “It’s so sweet to see you guys finally together, though! We thought you were going to dance around each other until the world ends!”

There’s a horrified croaking noise that is either Tony lost for words or being possessed by a demon, and Steve squeezes Tony’s arm reassuringly. It has the opposite effect, though. Tony starts to lean into the contact, then jerks back the other way.

Okay, that’s it. This is _so damn stupid._

"Jan, it’s always good to see you, and thank you so much for all the help, Thor. I really appreciate it. Now, you’ll excuse us, Tony and I need to have a _chat._ ”

Thor salutes them both with Mjolnir and all but flees the room.  Tony shoots Jan a glare as she leaves that doesn’t faze her in the slightest, given the way she blows them both kisses and smirks at Tony before she’s out of their line of sight.

Tony looks like he wants to take off running after them.

“You won’t even look at me now, Tony?”

“I…” Tony’s words dry up as a wild expression crosses his face. God, he’s such a mess over this whole situation.

“Tony, what’s _wrong?_ Why are you so nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Liar.”

“I’m _not!_ ” Tony snaps, and he moves to stand up and no doubt storm away, but Steve rises with him. If nothing else, he _really_ doesn’t want to be a goat anymore. He’d rather get back to being _himself,_ thank you. Especially because the more time he gives Tony to entrench himself and deflect, the harder resolving it all will be.

Tony freezes and then sinks back down to the couch.

“Look Steve, it’s been a long and confusing week, and I’m sure projecting my emotions at you hasn’t helped the situation any. I...I didn’t mean to influence you like this, and I would be _so thankful_ if we could put this behind us and move forward in our friendship.”

Oh, for Pete’s sake.

“Tony, do you honestly think you’re influencing me right now?”

Tony shrugged. “I mean, I’m the one that’s got this weird connection--”

“It’s _not_ weird!” He doesn’t mean to snap or interrupt Tony, but the thought of loving and being loved by Tony, of suddenly being connected to him at such a deep level and having it written off as ‘weird’ is...appalling. He draws in a calming breath, tries again.

“It’s not weird, Tony. I think it’s wonderful. Why are you avoiding this? Avoiding _us?_ ”

Tony shook his head furiously. “There _is_ no us, Steve. You’ve got Sharon and I--”

“Oh please. Sharon and I have been split for a long time now, Tony. Pull the other one.”

“Steve, you weren’t even supposed to _know_ about these feelings, and I...I forced them on you, and it’ll clear up after a while, once Strange fi--.”

Steve rolls his eyes and brings his hand up to cover Tony’s mouth. Tony’s eyes are full of panic, and he blinks rapidly before looking away.

“Nope, eyes on me Shellhead.”

Tony reluctantly acquiesces to his demand, looking straight into his eyes. Steve drops his hand slowly, rather missing the sensation of Tony’s soft lips on his fingers.

“Tony. This whole situation is bullcone. I know how you feel about me. Everyone in this entire mansion knows how you feel about me. Why are you sitting here trying to deny it? Have I done _anything_ to make you think I have a problem with you being in love with me?”

“I’m no--” Tony trails off, the words clogging in his throat, and Steve feels a hint of self-satisfaction at that.

“You can’t even deny it, can you?”

Tony jerks his head to the side, breaking their eye contact as he swallows jerkily, but remains infuriatingly quiet. Tony _always_ has something to say, even if it pisses people off.

This whole damn situation is surreal.  

“ What is this, Tony?” Steve can’t fathom what is going on in Tony’s head, and he hates it. “Tell me you realize how backwards this is?”

Tony throws a hand out as his temper finally frays, and all Steve can think is that it’s better than the damn silence.

“It’s me not ruining your life, Steve! Look, you’re caught up in this nonsense like it’s some grand story building to the happily ever after, but that’s not how it goes. I’m just a drunk and a coward hiding behind a suit of armor trying to make good.” ‘

What the hell?

“You’re...you’re _you._ Steve Rogers. Captain America. You’ve got everything going for you. You don’t need me dragging you down.”

Steve stares at Tony for a long, horrible moment, trying to digest this manifestation of self-loathing. It’s the same old sad song and dance, then. Tony Stark hating himself and making a ruin of his life because he’s fundamentally incapable of accepting that he deserves happiness.

“Goddammit Tony, I don’t know what’s worse; your guilt complex or the frankly terrifying pedestal you place me on.” Tony starts to pull away again, and Steve simply crawls into his lap, ignoring the panicked gasp Tony releases. He’s staying put, and Tony’s not going to bail out on this badly needed conversation. They’re hashing this out _right now_ , and then he’s going to--

Then he’s going to _burn their Avengers ID cards._

Tony’s look of desperate relief at the emergency signal just pisses him off even further.

* * *

 

“You’re staying on the Quinjet!”

“Just watch me!”

For the love of God, they don’t have _time_ for this argument. Victor Von Doom, apparently taking advantage of the Fantastic Four’s extended absence, has unleashed an army of Doombots on the city, focused particularly around the Baxter Building. He hadn’t made any demands of the police or SHIELD, and the next step is the National Guard.

Usually the city calls in the Avengers before it gets to that point.

They just might resort to the Guard anyway, because, instead of scrambling, Tony has blocked the exit and is staunch in his refusal to let Steve off the jet. It’s familiar, arguing with Tony like this--they bicker a lot in these situations--but they’ve never gone round while holding hands. It’s almost ridiculous. The only thing more ridiculous than arguing while holding hands would be Tony trying to tell him he’s the weakest link and needs to sit things out, but oh, wait, _that’s exactly what he’s doing._

“Steve, the second you let go of me you’re turning into a _goat._ How can you possibly think that would be of any help in this situation?”

“General consensus is I handled myself just fine against the Wrecking Crew.”

Tony runs a hand over his hair with his free hand, shakes their linked ones angrily, emphasizing his words. “You don’t have _armor._ You don’t have the _serum._ I’m not letting you off the Quinjet so you can get killed!”

“Are you saying I’m _useless_ without the serum?” He doesn’t mean to snap at Tony, he _doesn’t_ , but it’s flashes of 1941 all over again in his mind, flashes of being bullied and discounted and written off, like all he has to offer the world came on the heels of Erskine’s formula.

Someone swears quietly in the background but quickly falls silent. The quickest way to set Steve off is to underestimate him, especially by insinuating he’s physically useless in a situation, and he can feel his back stiffening as his ire is raised. He’s not bulked up, but he’s got skills, and training, and experience on his side. He should be out there, and instead he has to deal with Tony trying to mollycoddle him, as if he isn’t capable of taking care of himself!

Tony, sensing his mood change, bristles as well. Here they go, then. None of the others want any part of the rapidly escalating argument and are studiously minding their own business while Doom has his way with the city blocks below them.

“Tony...”  

“NO! I don’t think you’re useless, but I _am_ saying that you’re at a huge disadvantage right now! Just wait here and let us take care of Doom!”

Steve glares at Tony, feeling his gaze go hard and stubborn. “I can be tactician if nothing else, Tony. At the very least, take me with you--I don’t have to be on the ground to be of use.”

“No way! I’ll be confronting Doom directly, Steve! I’m better protected, but you don’t have that going for you. I’ll be drawing fire from all corners, and you can’t be separated from me, and I’m not endangering you like that!”

“You’re telling me that there’s nothing you can do to help?”

Tony jerks his gaze away, scowling. “The park was different, and you know it.”

“Tony--”

“ _No_. Not happening.” There’s that inflexible note in Tony’s voice now, the one he gets before he starts deciding someone’s best interest and running roughshod over their wishes.

Steve feels a calm resolve settle over him as he stares into Tony’s eyes. Dark shadows of worry and fear eat at the bond, though Tony ruthlessly squashes the vast portion of it down whenever it gets too much and begins to leak over to Steve.

Tony, Thor had informed him, had manifested armor for him just to see him safe. Powerful armor. He wasn’t even _trying_ now. Last time had been purely reactionary. Maybe he ought to see about recreating those circumstances.

There’s a loud crash and then Clint calls back to them from the cockpit. “Whatever you guys are doing, figure it out now. Doom just cracked the first layer of the Baxter Tower’s defenses!”

Steve’s gaze narrows as he begins to calculate angles. It’s a gamble, but if Tony wants to play it this way, _fine._

“Tony.”

“Steve…”

Steve licks his lips, preparing himself. He’s going to need surprise and a burst of strength to escape Tony’s grasp, and then he’ll have only seconds before he’s back to being a goat. He can do it, though. He _knows_ he can. The question is which of Tony’s emotions win out.

If nothing else, someone on this Quinjet will catch him before he hits the ground.

Hopefully.

He squeezes his eyes shut, draws in a deep breath. It’s Tony. If he can’t gamble on him, he’s in trouble anyway.

“Tony? Do you love me?”

Steve yanks his arm free and darts past him in an instant. He’s a goat by the time he’s out the Quinjet ramp, free falling.

“What the--STEVE!”

There a flurry of panic that bleeds all over their connection, and then a powerful rush of warmth and fear and worry and love slams through him and he’s not falling anymore, he’s floating he’s flying, _he’s_ _flying,_ and his battlecry rises above the laser fire and sirens as he slams headlong into a Doombot, sending it crashing into a different one that’s trying to destroy the next layer of defenses.

* * *

 

It's been almost two hours since Doom fled back to Latveria or whatever hole he’s climbed out of, and Tony still won’t talk to him, won’t meet his gaze, and Steve _knows_ that if it weren’t for the fact they need to be in constant contact or the goat thing kicks back in, Tony would be running off to hide.

He won’t stand for it.

He’d forced things to a head on the Quinjet, had forced them into a do-or-die confrontation. Tony had never answered if he loves him or not, but his actions... it had been _exhilarating._ He’d flown on the power of Tony’s love, had _battled_ while armored and shielded in it. Tony’s love had been made tangible for him, and he had taken it and used it for himself, reveling in the glorious strength and glutting himself on the seemingly endless wellspring of affection that Tony funneled relentlessly into him. He’d felt it, _drowned_ in it, had seen for himself how deeply Tony loved him, and what were words in the face of _that?_

Plenty, because Tony still _isn’t_ saying them.

He knows what’s happening. Tony is going to hold him and love him and endure it all silently, and never say anything of what he feels. As if it’s only real if he says it out loud. As if Steve doesn’t already know. He knows. He knows sure as anything, and he feels _cheated_ . Tony is...Tony is going to sit there and act as if he doesn’t love him with every iota of his being. As if they’re just _friends._

Tony will cut whatever they could be off at the knees, and act as if it’s a great idea.

The truth strikes him suddenly. He knows, he _knows,_ that if he gives Tony this silence, if he lets him sweep today under the carpet, he’ll _never_ hear it. Tony will never give up this deepest well-cherished secret of his--not that anyone is fooled--and it will eventually _break_ something in them. This chance not taken will see them ruined, too much between them too long unsaid. Tony will see himself dead before he spits it out and risks what they are for what they _might_ be.

‘Might.’

As if Tony doesn’t know that he’s practically worshipped the ground Tony struts across since they pulled him out the ice.

Tony’s hand twitches in his, and Steve grasps it tighter. Tony might not be ready to run off and leave him as a goat to stave off the discussion that Steve has just decided they’re having, but why take any chances? Tony is not a quiet man, but this whole journey through the mansion and towards his room has been _achingly_ silent, and Steve isn’t quite sure what’s stewing in that overactive brain of Tony’s. Judging from the shuttered expression and increasingly withdrawn body language, though, he’s got a few suspicions.

Steve lets Tony close the door behind them, then plants his feet, using his leverage to pull Tony back toward him. The thing is, he keeps forgetting that he’s back to a beanpole and is missing a great deal of the bulk he’s grown accustomed to, so instead of tugging Tony into his arms and holding him, Tony smacks into him, Steve goes off balance, and Tony overcompensates trying to right him and they end up in a tangle of flailing limbs. They’re too far away from the bed or the nearby armchair, but Tony’s floor is carpeted, and the man has just enough presence of mind to ensure that they land with him on the bottom.

Tony lands flat on his back and when he finally takes stock of his position, Steve glares down at him, settled very comfortably in his lap. Tony might be content to pass up what might be their best--and maybe only--opportunity to hash this out properly, but Steve isn’t. He _felt_ Tony’s love for him. How can Tony think he’ll be content to pretend it never happened?

“Steve, are you okay?” Tony is trying to sit upright, but the prospect is tricky with Steve holding his left hand in a death grip, and his right hand is splayed across Steve’s back. It would take a better contortionist than either of them to successfully sit all the way up. Tony’s breath hitches when Steve wets his lips, and Steve can feel Tony’s dick stir to life beneath him. Tony’s mouth drops open a bit, but words seem to have abandoned him, and Steve can’t help but notice that his lips are very pretty, thick and soft-looking, and dusky pink. Really, that unnecessarily fancy goatee of his does nothing but call attention to them, and never let it be said Steve can’t take a hint.  

He has a thousand things he wants to say to Tony, but that can be later. Right now, though, he focuses on Tony’s face. Tony hasn’t met his gaze once since their midnight confrontation, and God, who could blame him? Those blue eyes go warm, and Tony’s pupils dilate, and Steve can see him trying to mask it, to recall his composure, but there has always been intensity between them, and Tony has never been capable of indifference where he’s concerned.

“Steve…” Tony’s voice is soft and apprehensive and yearning, and Steve will be damned if he misses this chance.

“I’m going to kiss you, Tony. Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

“Steve, that’s wedding materi--wait-- _Ste-mmph.”_

Tony freezes under him, and Steve isn’t sure if it’s rejection or surprise or what, but Tony relaxes suddenly, lips parting beneath his, and _God_ , he should have done this a long time ago. Kissing Tony isn’t a clash or battle of wills, nor is it an all-out passionate tangle of tongues. Kissing Tony is slow and easy, a warm and heady thing that sends sweet thrills of pleasure up and down his spine.

The beard rasps against his face as Tony deepens the kiss, clearly savoring every moment, and Steve lets out a pleased hum when Tony’s hands travel up his arms to tangle in his hair and yank him down further.  

He goes quite willingly.

When they finally break apart, Tony’s expression is soft and mystified--and dazed, Steve is pleased to note. They are both breathing raggedly, and Steve wonders if it’s too soon to go back for more. Tony had poured so much of himself into that kiss, and he wants more. He wants Tony to kiss him, to hold him, to cry out and move in him, to shower him with sweet loving words as he shatters apart again, and again, and again, until he is a wrung out ruined mess under Tony’s hands.

He wants Tony to stop looking at him in disbelief, as if he can’t wrap that genius brain of his around the fact that Steve kissed him and enjoyed it. There can’t be any doubt--he’s really hard right now, and Tony’s raggedly dazed expression is pretty damn inspirational.

“Steve, what--why would you _do_ that?”

“You love me.”

“You’re one of my best friends, Steve, of course I care about you.”

Steve can almost believe that is the sum of it too, but Tony’s eyes flicker away from his, and even if he _wasn’t_ always able to suss out when Tony was lying, he damn well isn’t dumb enough to sit there with Tony halfway hard underneath him, bound to him with a mystical bond born of True Damn Love and think that all they are is platonic. “You’re lying.”

Tony flinches, guilt crossing his expression. Steve moves a hand over to rest flat against Tony’s cheek, his thumb stroking slowly over the meticulously groomed hairs.

“I _felt_ you, Tony.”

“Steve, I’m no good for you. I’m an alcoholic control freak with delusions of heroism. You deserve better.”

“I deserve someone who loves me so much that they literally became a beacon of true love. Don’t take

that from me--from _us._ ” Steve lifts the hand that bears Tony’s soulmark and presses a kiss to it. The result was nothing like he expects. Tony jerks and cries out beneath him, head flung back and eyes snapped close as if a bolt of electricity is running through him. He’s fully erect now, Steve can feel it, feel how Tony is rock hard beneath him, that thick and rigid length pressed straight against his own rapidly growing erection. He hadn’t known the sigil would produce that kind of a response, God.

Steve kisses the sigil again, swipes it with the tip of his tongue, and has to bite back his own moan as Tony shivers and rolls his hips. Steve wants him, wants him so badly right now. He wants Tony to undress him, to strip him down until it’s just him in his skin and let him open him up and sink in deep. He shudders, lets his head drop so that his forehead is resting against Tony’s own heated flesh.

“Move in me. I want to feel you, Tony.”

Tony breaks with a soft cry of his name, and Steve’s world goes off-kilter for a moment as Tony bucks up and rolls them over so that he is on top now, hot and heavy and hard above him. Steve trembles, loving the way Tony feels above him, how it brings back last night, and the way he had been surrounded, enveloped entirely by Tony. He’d wanted Tony so badly then, had wanted to kiss him then, but hadn’t quite dared, not wanted to irrevocably damage their friendship. Tony loves him, though, loves him fiercely and with every part of his being, and Steve winds his hands around Tony’s neck and pulls, tugging him into another kiss.

This one has more of an edge to it, an intent that wasn’t there before. Tony steers this time, nibbling at Steve’s bottom lip, coaxing his mouth open with deeper and deeper kisses. Steve lets out a pleased hum that shifts into a gasp as cool air moves across his flushed skin. The kiss is _dirty_ now, their tongues tangling and Tony exploring every bit of his mouth, but he’s not rushing it. Tony kisses him like he has all the time in the world and a checklist to go through. It’s frustrating, is what it is, but Tony has him pinned and working the buttons of his shirt open to expose more and more of his body.

“Tony-- _God, Tony--_ Tony, say it.” It’s more plea than demand, really. Tony’s abandoned his lips and is trailing his tongue down the side of his neck, pressing kisses into his taut muscles, and Steve is squirming beneath him, his breath coming in rough pants as Tony using lips and tongues and teeth to besiege each and every one of his erogenous zones. Down, Tony goes, down from his neck to the narrow ridges of his collarbone, nipping and licking at Steve’s sensitive skin before continuing further down, scattering kisses and gentle nips and licks over his torso.

He wants the words, he wants to hear it before they go past this point of no return.

Tony is methodically stripping him--his shirt is unbuttoned, his belt unbuckled, and now Tony’s slowly unzipping him. He wants this, but he wants that moment of exhilaration back, that feeling of all-encompassing love and adoration that had enveloped him. He wants to make love to Tony, with Tony, but more than that he wants the words. It’s one thing to know, it’s another thing entirely to hear it.

“Tony, please, _tell me._ ”

Tony draws in a shuddering breath, curses softly, and rolls off of Steve. “Yeah, no, we’re not doing this. Our first time isn’t happening on the floor.”

Steve’s growing sense of bewildered rejection dissipates as Tony hauls him up and back into his arms. A thrill runs through Steve--he _likes_ being manhandled by Tony--and he gleefully gives in to an urge he’s always daydreamed of but long written off as impossible. He leaps up, looping his arms around Tony’s neck and wrapping his legs around Tony’s waist.

Tony lets out a startled squawk as he reflexively moves to steady Steve, stumbling for a moment, but he gets his balance back, and Steve grins delightedly.

“What the hell Steve, did you get turned into a goat or an octopus?”

“Say it.”

“You obviously know.”

“Tony, dammit, I--”

“Fuck, Steve, I’m trying to give you an out, okay? I’m no good--I’m a drunken, selfish, greedy SOB. I will give you anything you want, I will fuck you right here and now if you like, but don’t drag those words out of me. If I bring my emotions into this, Steve, it’ll be a mess. I won’t know how to let you go.”

God, Tony, you glorious _idiot._ “How the hell do you figure I’d _want_ to let you go, Shellhead?”

“Everyone goes, Steve. I don’t have it in me to lose you too.”

For the life of him, Steve will never understand how someone as wonderful as Tony consistently manages to sell himself short. Tony’s demons ride him hard, and he battles them constantly. It’s one fight Steve’s more than happy to tag in on.

Steve nuzzles the side of Tony’s cheek, reveling in the contrast of smooth skin and soft facial hair, basking in the woodsy tobacco and smoked vanilla scent of his aftershave. Tony always smells so nice. Tony hisses and kneads at where he’s gripping Steve’s thighs, tilts his neck so Steve can have better access.

“ _Tell. Me.”_

“I love you, Steve Rogers. I always have.” There’s a gentle roll of emotion through the bond, love and peace and tremulous hope, and Steve greedily luxuriates in it. It’s not everyday your most impossible dream comes true.

Steve supposes he should actually return the sentiment, knows that it’s not fair that he’s dragged this essential truth out of Tony and not informed him of the same, and he will, really, he will, he intends to. However, somewhere between one moment and the next, he decided his time was better spent trying to crawl his way inside Tony, mouth first.

They’re moving, he’s aware of that much, but he can’t really bring himself to care because Tony _loves_ him, and it’s the best thing he’s heard in his life, and the moment is embedded deep in his mind. He will always have that much, and more, God he wants so much more.

Tony winds up falling backwards onto his bed, and Steve takes the initiative since Tony is stupidly clothed right now. Tony’s got _his_ clothes flung all over the room, though. The pants are in the middle of the floor where they’d fallen off his waist when Tony pulled him up, his shirt is...somewhere. Steve doesn’t even really recall losing them, but he certainly doesn’t miss them.

It takes some doing, getting Tony’s clothes off, but they are eventually naked, and Tony’s staring up at him with a look of disbelieving awe, like he still can’t believe they’re here in this moment, and Steve can sympathize.

“God, Steve, you’re beautiful.”

Steve huffs out an ugly burst of laughter. He’s perfectly at home in his own skin and the only thing he had ever disliked about himself had been his weakness and propensity for sickness that kept him out of the military before Project Rebirth, but he had no illusions--he wasn’t beautiful, not like Tony is.

“I’m serious, Steve. You’re fucking hot, and I don’t want to hear any of your nonsense about the serum because I _know_ _you_. You and the serum? That’s just the frosting on the cake. Nice, but entirely unnecessary. The truest parts of yourself--your nobility, your kindness, your _goodness_? That captured me long before your physical attraction.” Tony ducks his head a little, as if unused to speaking so plainly, and maybe that _is_ true, because Tony doesn’t easily lay his feelings on the line like that.

“Tony, I--”

“Jesus, take the compliment, Cap. It’s true, and I swear you’ve got to be fishing. Jan has an unhealthy lust for Calvin Klein models. There’s no high praise from her than being compared to one. Now come here. I want to blow you.”

“Tony!”

“Oh wow, you’re in a for a rude awakening if _that_ gives you pause, old man.”

“Shut up, Tony.”

“Come and do it for me?

Well, since he asked…

* * *

 

Jesus, the legends are true.

There’s a lot of gossip about Tony, about how indulgent he can be, how insanely talented he is in bed. One of his flings had claimed on live national television that Tony was a genius with both brains, and Cosmopolitan magazine had dedicated a special two-page spread to his sexcapades in their “Best Sex Ever Had” article. A skeptic might think it was all exaggeration, but, no.

Tony really is that good, and Steve is a wreck.

Tony has him flat on his back, flushed red and panting for breath, drowning in a thick haze of pleasure. His eyes are squeezed shut, dark pulses of ghostly color appearing in the darkness behind his eyelids as his hips roll up into moist heat. Tony makes an encouraging noise when Steve tangles his hands in his hair, and all that does is make him grip tighter and try to thrust up further into Tony’s mouth as vibrations go down his dick.

Tony’s so damn slow about it, too, which is just...oh fuck, it’s so good. Tony is going all the way down and back up, mapping his way across every rigid inch, using his tongue to lick and trace, and, in one inspired moment that leaves him writhing and begging for mercy, Tony takes him all the way down and _hums._

Steve whines and shudders as Tony eases his way back up, his lips soft and slick and his hollowed cheeks creating a moist vacuum that causes him to arch up, fighting against Tony’s grip. If he had the serum in him, he could easily break Tony’s grip, could do whatever he wanted, but Tony’s got the advantage, and all he can do is endure and beg for Tony to go faster, not that Tony’s listening at all.

His thighs tremble and his buttcheeks clench as Tony curls his tongue around the head of his cock, toying with the foreskin before he gives in to Steve’s insistent tugging and takes him all the way down again.

This is _torture._                     

He has to untangle one of his hands from Tony’s hair and slap it over his mouth because he’s past all restraint and tolerance, his moans and groans are becoming louder and louder with every desperate gasp of air, and he isn’t going to risk waking the whole mansion, no matter how good Tony swears the soundproofing is.

Tony seems to take him muffling his voice as a personal challenge, because he pulls out all the stops now, humming and licking and sucking and stroking. Tony actually kisses all the way down his erection until he reaches his balls, then he gently licks one, then the other, presses his tongue into the patch of skin just behind them, and Steve gives up covering his mouth and bites his hand. HIs legs jackknife, his feet slipping and sliding over the black satin sheets as Tony wages his war, driving him further and further towards what is going to be an incredible orgasm, he has no doubt.

The room is hot and thick with the smell of sex, and the air moving over his sweat-slick skin causes goosebumps to prickle on his arms as he shivers and squirms under Tony’s hold. Tony hums again and it’s too much for him to contain and he shouts, yanks his hand out of his mouth and lets it flop onto the bed so he can tangle it in the sheets as sharp bursts of pleasure rock through him. He wants more, he wants faster and harder and he wants Tony to be in him, pounding him through a quaking orgasm until he’s used up and limp and unable to so much as twitch.

He’s leaking precome, can smell it, feel the glide of it as Tony’s movements become slicker. It’s a lot--he always had been a leaker, even before the serum--and Tony’s appreciative moans as he continues to blow him are sending frissons of pleasure all through his body, radiating out from his groin and making him leak more and more in appreciation, in anticipation.

“Tony! God, Tony, please!” Tears well up in his eyes as Tony continues to slowly coax him closer and closer to an orgasm. It’s maddening, infuriating. _It’s the best damn blowjob of his life._ A throbbing, pulsing warmth goes through him as Tony eases up on his thighs enough that he can thrust up a little, a little more, and Steve lets himself sink down into the mound of pillows at his back, both of his hands now gripping massive handfuls of Tony’s sheets as he moans brokenly and begins to thrust upwards, fucking Tony’s mouth with abandon.

God, Tony’s mouth is divine. It’s scorching hot, and wet and slick, and Tony’s tongue swipes up and down his cock as he bobs his head, and it’s still not as fast as he wants, and he’s so hot and _aching_ with need, and he can feel his climax approaching, but in its own time and Tony isn’t letting him get there. He’s strung out on it, is sobbing lowly as he rocks and bucks through the sweet agony Tony is inflicting on him, and even if he had the desire to quiet himself, the ability is not there. Tony is very, very good at this, and he’s quite obviously after the pleas and curses and praise that spills from his lips in fevered desperation.

Steve shudders, every inch of him on edge and vibrating as he draws closer and closer to--to--he seizes up, back arching as he shatters and breaks. A low wail rips out of his throat as he comes harder than he ever has before, spending himself in long, forceful bursts that Tony swallows down and continues to coax out of him until he sags limply and is released with a soft ‘pop’.

_Wow._

His breathing is ragged as he lets himself bask in the afterglow, too sated to do much more than lazily trace a finger along Tony’s face, over the finely sculpted angles of his cheekbones.

Tony presses a soft kiss to his inner thigh, then scoots his way up the bed until he’s resting on the pillows beside him, still taking care to stay in contact with Steve’s body. No one wants a goat inserted into these proceedings. Tony’s smiling, and it’s one that Steve’s never seen before. It’s a little fond, a little soft, and his eyes are so warm and blue with a gleam of genuine happiness in them. It’s a devastating look on Tony, who usually so in control, so unflappable and guarded. This is the deepest part of Tony, the truest part, the one he’d always _known_ was lurking somewhere beneath the suits and the armor and the obligations and ten thousand stresses. It utterly transforms him, makes him look younger, sweet, and it is absolutely a look that Steve knows he’ll spend his life chasing. Chasing, and finding only every once in a while.

He commits it to memory, then tugs Tony over so that they are completely entangled, their legs intertwined and his arms wrapped around Tony’s neck. Tony’s expression shifts into something a bit more heated, a bit hungrier as he rocks against him. There is a light brushing at his entrance, and Steve moans and rolls his hips in accommodation.

“May I?”

Steve presses a light kiss to Tony’s lips and nods. “I love you. Tell me again?”

Tony’s eyes squeeze shut, and when they open again, Tony’s staring at him like he hung the moon and scattered the stars in the sky. “I love you, Steve.”

“Say it again.”

Tony preps him slowly and thoroughly, easing him open in gentle increments, pressing kisses across his body and whispering the three sweetest words Steve’s ever heard again and again, yielding to Steve’s continual demands for them. Everytime, everytime Tony says he loves him there’s a flash of brilliant warmth that slams into him and sends him spiraling further and further into a blissful haze. It’s an addicting sensation, and as he moans and gasps and pleads under the mercy of Tony’s skillful fingers, his only wish is that he could somehow do the same for Tony. He’s said it and will keep on saying it as often he thinks Tony needs to hear it, as often as Tony _wants_ to hear it, but he’s not sure it’s the same for him.

Steve knows now, knows in a way other people would kill for, how the person he loves feels about him, exactly how deep it goes, every glorious facet of it. It’s a security and point of pride and exquisitely _intense._

Does Tony feel the same thing when he says it?  Does his world go warm and bright and blissful? Tony has never put much stock in words, but would those particular ones somehow be enough?

It’s not fair for him to bask in this grand sensation and leave things so one-sided, though. This whole episode has laid all his doubts and fears to rest and given him something priceless, and Tony will continue to give more and more of himself, whenever Steve needs it and a thousand times beside. Tony should know, too, and it doesn’t seem right that no matter how many times he says it, how many times he reassures Tony, it will never be a certainty. Not the way it is for him.

“How do you want this?”

God, he has _options._ It’s been so long since that was the case--after the serum, he’d been too large, too bulky for any of his preferred positions when it came to this, and it had all been a moot point anyway because it had been the army, and that meant women for him because he couldn’t afford the risk.

Oh, but he has his old body back, the one that had been on all fours for Arnie Roth back in the day, the one that had been twisted and contorted and posed for more carnal explorations by some of the artists he knew.

Maybe Tony would let him ride him? He hadn’t done that with anyone since 1940 with that one Broadway fella...

Tony’s stronger than him right now, but oh so attentive, and when Steve shifts his weight Tony moves with him, letting himself be rolled over in that massive bed so that Steve’s on top.

“Figures. You always did like riding me.” That damnable smirk is back on Tony’s face, and he can’t stop the blush spreading across his face because _God,_ Tony’s right. It’s been nothing for him to just grab onto the armor for a quick lift, and then there’d been that time he’d literally plopped down on Iron Man’s back like he was riding a horse, _jeez._

There’s a soft mutter from Tony about how Steve had literally climbed him like a tree half an hour ago but _now_ wants to start blushing that makes said blush darken even more, but he eschews commenting in favor of urging Tony to scoot up so that’s almost fully upright against the pillows.

It takes a few moments to situate themselves again after the tiny squabble they have over the condom, but Tony accepts defeat gracefully, helped in part by the way Steve shucks the blasted thing across the room and claims his mouth, hot and wet and demanding. All Avengers have strict medical testing done on a regular basis, and Tony stays strictly on top of his sexual health, anyway, and once he has the serum back he wouldn't have anything to worry about _anyway._ As always, though, Tony spends more time worrying about others than his own damn self.

He loves this man, this beautiful, brilliant, flawed but heroic piece of work that does nothing but bend over backwards for him, who gave him a home, gave him a future, gave him his _love._

Tony has given him an embarrassment of riches, and dammit, he’s going to find a way to make Tony understand just how much he loves him for that.

“Steve…”

The way Tony says his name is dazed and rough and thick with lust and yearning as Steve lowers himself down his erection, and he firmly commits to the intent to drag it out of Tony as often as possible.

It feels like forever before he finally works himself all the way down, and Tony lets out a sobbing gasp as Steve settles in his lap. Tony feels so good inside him, hot and hard, the stretch and heavy sensation of being filled so tightly making him tremble and pant as he adjusts in achingly intense stages.

Steve strokes a hand along Tonys jaw, brushing along the goatee before cupping a flushed cheek in his palm. “I love you.”

Tony’s eyes prickle with tears, and Steve leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of his eyes, sweetly teases at Tony’s lips and nibbles lightly at them before pulling back.

“Go slow, Tony. Slow, and deep.”

There’s that overwhelming pulse of feeling down the bond as Tony obliges him, and the thought hits Steve on the tail end of it. Bridges go both ways, though, don’t they? He’s an _idiot._

“Say it again.”

“I love you.” The words leave Tony’s mouth on a gasp as he thrusts up into him, and Steve mentally seizes at the burst of emotion from his lover (Tony’s his now, he gets to have this and he’s never letting go) and envisions himself pushing his own steady love and awe along that same path.

“I love you so very much, too.”

Tony’s eyes snap open as he lets out a startled cry, full of disbelief and hope and encompassing need, and Steve thrills with satisfaction at the response.

“Steve, was that--?” Tony’s voice drags off into a wondering moan as Steve takes his marked hand and presses a kiss against it. It goes back and forth between them, the pulses of love and affection as Steve demands more and more of Tony and he answers unflinchingly, always eager to please.

“Say it,” he demands, and Tony lays himself bare in a way he likely never has before in his life.

“Harder,” he murmurs, breathless and alight with pleasure as Tony snaps up into him, making him see stars.

“More,” he pleads, and Tony rolls his hips, grinding against him as he steals more and more control back from Steve, makes him steadily come undone.

Tony’s got Steve's other hand now as well, stretching his arms wide to either side of them as he bounces him up and down from the sheer force of his thrusts. Molten heat shimmers through his veins and electricity goes down his spine as Tony relentlessly hammers against his prostate and lets his heart spill out past kiss-swollen lips.

He’s trapped between this counterpoint of love and pleasure, and it’s all he can do to stay afloat and not drown in it, his head falling forward as he yields to Tony’s rhythm, his breath coming in punched out gasps and soft wails as he is urged closer and closer to the edge of a raging inferno, sent over and down and overwhelming fall into ecstatic bliss that he never wants to end.

There is no back and forth of emotions anymore, the bond has been entirely overwhelmed and enlarged, and it no longer feels like Tony’s bond, but _theirs,_ and when his eyes slip closed and his mind reaches out there is nothing but a thick blanket of warmth and comfort and serenity and joy. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced but everything he’s wanted, and it’s all because of _Tony._ He’s utterly encompassed by the man, mentally, emotionally, and physically. He would almost feel self-conscious, but judging from the soft litany of his name on Tony’s lips, the stuttered praises and sweet endearments and the look of utter blissed out peace stealing across his face, he supposes that it must be the same for him, too.

Tony’s thrusts turn more and more sharp, more frantic, and it’s just right, too much, not enough, _more, Tony, more,_ and Steve shakes and shivers and desperately gasps for breath as his pulses races and his muscles tense and a scorching heat rushes up his legs and pools low below his stomach as he finally tumbles over the edge and comes in thick, pulsing ropes. Tony thrusts once, twice, and then stiffens and makes the most incredible noise, hoarse and breathy and low, like he wants to scream but his vocal cords utterly fail him, as he shatters apart, spending himself deep inside Steve's body.

Steve registers sharp sensation on his palm, like a brand has been pressed to it, but it is almost immediately lost as pleasure, brilliant and wild, sets the bond ablaze, and all of it is just too much and the world goes dark as he collapses bonelessly on top of Tony.

* * *

 

It’s very early in the morning, early enough that it could still be considered night, to be honest, and Steve's starving.

Getting up means letting go of Tony, however, and he doesn’t have that in him. Not yet. Maybe it’s the newness of it all. They’d barely been able to break apart long enough to get themselves cleaned up before stumbling back to bed in the first place.

Tony never gets enough sleep as it is, and he’s not going to wake his fella up now and drag him along so he won’t turn into a goat again, all just to get a sandwich.

His fella.

He can feel the grin tugging at his lips, and idly twirls a hand through Tony’s curling hair. Tony’s been wearing it straighter and more neatly trimmed now, but he used to have such curls. In his idle daydreams of things he once thought could never be, he’d wanted to just bury his hands in the unruly mass and bask in his presence. Some stupid silly thing, born more of a deep-laden desire to wrap himself around Tony.

The reality is leagues better, anyway.

Tony makes a kittenish noise in his sleep and tucks in tighter around Steve's frame before stilling again, his breathing deep and slow. Maybe he’ll draw Tony like this, long and lean in the moonlight, dark sheets pooling low over his waist and sleeping peace turning him uncharacteristically soft. He looks almost a decade younger like this, and he can’t help but marvel at the difference.

Tony’s always so guarded, so careful and strong during the day. He’s got his masks up so he can drag the future into the here and now. He’s running his company, trying to run the Avengers, the city, and the whole rest of the world if he can get away with it, but it’s the quieter moments Steve wants to continue to bask in, the moments when Tony’s still.

He can’t draw him now, but there’ll be other nights, other moments, and he’ll indulge himself then. For now, though? Steve stares down at Tony, and whispers it again into the quiet. “I love you.”

“I take it that’s not meant for me.”

Steve manages not to jump, but only just barely, and he shoots a glare at the figure on the opposite side of the portal that has opened up in the middle of the room. “Strange.”

“Captain.” Stephen takes in the scene and fixes him with an arch look of his own.

“Your Avengers made it seem as if I needed to speak with Tony rather urgently. A broken amulet and a goat, and something gone wrong with the serum, I believe?”

“Um, yeah. I’m fine, so long as I hold onto Tony, but I’m fuzzy on the rest of it.” Steve strokes a hand down Tony’s back as he mumbles sleepily.

“Who’s ‘zat?”

“Stephen Strange, honey. Go back to sleep.”

“‘kay. f’ckn magic…”

His eyes don’t even open once.

Tony probably hasn’t even woken up, really. He’s carried on business deals--successful ones--while three-quarters asleep and doped to the gills.

Steve looks back up just in time to see Strange’s expression smooth over, but can’t find it in himself to care. He’s got Tony, and the whole word can know, as far as he’s concerned.

“I’ll come round at a better hour with Wong. In the meantime, goodnight and congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

The portal closes in a burst of glittering light, and Steve presses a kiss to Tony’s brow before settling back in for the night. “Goodnight, Shellhead. May you dream of lovely things and wake to find them real.”

“You're the GOAT, Steve.”

Steve stares down at Tony, and the mischievously gleaming hint of deep blue beneath barely cracked eyelids. Jesus, that rotten ass pun! _“Did you just--”_

Tony grins against his chest and smugly settles back in to sleep before Steve can find the words he needs to explain to Tony why they’re finished. 

  
  



End file.
